your sassafras soporific

Oneiric Phase Player

To take your place I place this alchemical bomblet in your sassafras soporific. In this oneiric state anything is possible so I extend my sickle sharp proboscis the seventeen feet necessary to puncture the dream bubble that is unspooling above your bed. There I inhale the flying seahorses, the cavorting beasties and fireflies in fresnel cubes.

(The sea sponges made of milk chocolate and the orange flavored tsetse flies are my favorite)

And in the one quiet moment between my inhalations, you awaken and proclaim the central tenets of manifest destiny have forever been misunderstood and the lights come on plunging the entire scene into darkness. I’m out of place.

“A dream inside a dream might not be a dream.”

—Cormac McCarthy / Cities of the Plain

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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